


A Broken Arrow Misses Its Mark

by crucifer_powerbomb



Category: Eye of the Cyclone
Genre: Bad Ending, Bondage, Cum Play, Defeated Superhero, Flogging, Gang Rape, Gay Superhero Kink, Humiliation, M/M, Nipple Play, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27171622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crucifer_powerbomb/pseuds/crucifer_powerbomb
Summary: Having recovered his village's most prized artifact and escaped from the dungeon of the villain Demonstre, Will Bowman speeds home, reflecting on the indignities he has endured.
Relationships: Will Bowman/Demonstre
Kudos: 1





	A Broken Arrow Misses Its Mark

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Eye of the Cyclone](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/704620) by N Z Page. 



> This is a fan-written sequel to “Reap What You Bow,” a story/photo series published on Eye of the Cyclone between 2008 and 2009. Alex Miller summarizes the story and EotC [on his blog](https://alexmillerscave.blogspot.com/2018/06/eye-of-cyclone-reap-what-you-bow.html?zx=974c9a26e76e8294).

He hadn’t realized how much of a number the demon had done on him until he’d left the dungeon.

Angry red marks, the imprint of Demonstre’s chains, crisscrossed Will’s bare body. They were swollen, tender and hot to the touch, in spite of the bitter cold of the late autumn air. He made no effort to recover his shredded tunic and doublet, which lay still lay where they fell, the tunnel where the demon had stripped and overpowered him. They couldn’t protect his dignity, much less protect him against the elements, now. He tried, without success, to ease the lasting pain left by his captivity, reaching across his body to massage his wrist. An involuntary gasp escaped his mouth as the fine hairs on his arm, standing on end, brushed against his hard nipples. Had it been this cold when he had gone down?

He could heal himself with the Ice Crystal, but who knew how much of its energy Demonstre had already exhausted? He hadn’t fought the skull-faced demon tooth and nail to waste the power of Havenwick’s most precious artifact on so trivial a thing as his own comfort. The crystal had to be returned to the village, where he could release the souls Demonstre imprisoned inside back into their bodies. Before it ran out of energy. Before its light—and theirs—faded away forever.

The demon had drastically depleted the crystal’s energy reserves trying to finish Will off. He remembered the beam of energy drilling through his toned abs, his back scraping against the rough, damp stone of the dungeon wall he was pinned against. Both his muscles and his mind were on the verge of failing as the energy penetrated his body. As he struggled to escape, a voice in his head urged him to surrender. Just let go, it said. Hang in your chains like a broken puppet. Maybe you weren’t cut out to be a hero. Maybe you were meant fated to meet your end this way.

A hot flush crept across his face. He was ashamed to admit it, but ultimately, lustfully reminiscing about the demon’s touch had been what saved him. How Demonstre had violated him in the tunnel, twisting his nipples and crushing his balls with his bearlike hands, stood out vividly in his memory. His cock still strained against his emerald tights, now translucent, soaked through with pre-cum. Hard as a yew staff, its outline was clear enough that a keen-eyed scout could spot it mile away. The cold didn’t lessen the size of his erection one bit. If anything, it got him harder, the discomfort stirring memories of Demonstre’s pulverising grip.

As he crossed its perimeter, the wind whistled through Thorsby Castle’s ruined towers. In the gray morning light, the crumbling stones cast shadows like jeering, lecherous faces, as though a thousand pairs of eyes had fixed themselves on the hero’s taut ass, undressing it with their gaze as he stumbled away. You’ve escaped with his life, this time, they seemed to say. When you think you’re man enough, come back for round two. Demonstre’ll finish the job. Will quickened his pace; it was his imagination, he knew, but he was alone and very exposed, half-naked and freezing, with nary an arrow in his quiver save the one threatening to burst out of his tights.

* * *

The first night in the woods was unpleasant. With the castle out of sight, Will tried to reassure himself that he was making good time. He made a shelter, leaning brush against a gnarled blackthorn, and beneath the moonless sky, he pulled down his tights, took his cocks in his hands, and thought of hale and hearty lads he had lain with back in Havenwick. The crystal gave off a faint, not at all encouraging light, as Will stroked himself to completion, a (by his standards) modest-sized load spurting across his torso. The exhausted hero didn’t even have a moment to clean himself up before he fell into a fitful sleep.

He had nightmares, vivid ones. In them, he had never escaped the dungeon. With his painful, throbbing erection, he had nudged his belt buckle upward. It deflected the crystal’s energy beam back at it, disabling it...for a moment. Then a second energy beam shot out, hitting him square in his balls. He screamed himself hoarse, the rattling of his chains filling the dungeon as he thrashed violently, struggling to get free. When the demon returned, Will’s soul was still in his body, but every remaining ounce of resistance had been wrung out of him. The demon was surprised, but not displeased; he loosened the hero’s chains, and Will fell to the floor like a sack of turnips, sprawling out pathetically at his captor’s feet.

Demonstre laughed; if the hero wanted to live, he would show him what a few more days of life meant imprisoned in his dungeon. He wrapped a length of chain around Will’s neck, forming a makeshift leash, before passing the free end through a ring in the ceiling. With a forceful tug, the demon dragged Will’s limp form back on its feet; the hero found himself standing on tiptoe to avoid being strangled. The demon produced a braided leather whip and, laughing victoriously, began scourging Will’s exposed chest, until the hero had regained enough of his voice to let out a long, pitiful whine, punctuated by anguished sobs. Demonstre then switched tacks; taking greater care with his aim, he began to give the hero’s already abused nipples his undivided attention, cackling with delight as the hero writhed and screamed.

Will awoke with a start, momentarily confused to see not dark tunnels but trees and bushes glimmering with frost. His torment abruptly ended, but in its place, there was something else, a prickling, full-body numbness. He tried to rub the sleep from his eyes before realizing that the fog clouding his vision was his own exhaled breath. Looking down at his body, he saw his beard and chest hair encrusted with sparkling ice crystals. Patches of thicker, flakier ice had formed on torso where he had painted himself with his own cum the previous night.

As his eyes travelled down farther, he realized he had orgasmed again during the night. He flushed hot with shame. It was disgraceful for a hero to be manhandled in such a way—much less to enjoy it! He also cursed upon realizing that his last intact piece of clothing had been ruined. Evidently, he had tossed and turned so violently during the night that his tights, already scorched during his battle with the demon, had torn right open across the front, while the sticks and rocks littering the hard ground had shredded much of the remaining material. Will got up, hefting the crystal, attempting to massage the numbness from his now totally exposed muscles. He didn’t feel slowed by the cold, not yet. As if to proclaim his superior, heroic stamina, his manhood hung undiminished; he didn’t bother cleaning the frozen semen off of his body. He had to keep moving; he could endure these conditions far longer than the average man, but he couldn’t stay out here forever.

He ventured further into the woods, in what he hoped was the direction of home. This section of the woods was unfamiliar. The brush was dense; bare twigs whipped his body as he delved deeper and deeper, trying to penetrate the dense growth. By sundown, the chill in the air had deepened, and Will was unsure of how far he had left to go. The glow of the Ice Crystal had grown worryingly dim. Exhausted, but resolving to push on at first light, Will drifted off to sleep.

* * *

When he returned to the dream, he was still in Demonstre’s dungeon, chained by the neck to the ceiling. The demon still held the whip; satisfied that he had sufficiently punished Will’s chest, he moved down, targeting the hero’s tights. The whip made short work of the thin material, and within minutes, Will’s ass and thighs were mostly exposed, with only the thinnest strips of fabric holding what remained in place around his body. With a laugh that seemed to rattle the castle’s very foundations, Demonstre grabbed fistfuls of the ruined garment, tearing it wide open at the crotch; Will’s erection immediately sprang free, while the remaining shreds fell around his knees.

Demonstre then threw aside the whip. Will saw the demon advance toward him and felt a powerful hand grab his left ass cheek, its sharp nails digging into his flesh. Gripping the hero’s chain with his remaining hand, Demonstre extended a finger and began jerking the hero up and down rhythmically, as though he were ringing a cathedral bell. Will alternately found himself suspended in the air, the chain crushing his throat, and dropped on his feet. Starved of oxygen and in considerable pain, he couldn’t tell if it was the full length of the demon’s fingers, thick as tree roots, that his ass was being impaled on each time the demon let the chain go slack.

Like a drawbridge belonging to history's most indecisive baron, Will was raised and lowered for what felt like hours. His cock swung up and down with each movement, flinging threads and drops of pre-cum like strands of spider silk glistening with dew. Finally, his face and manhood flushed crimson and on the verge of cumming, an unconscious Will was allowed to crumple to the floor. He scarcely had time to catch his breath and banish the black spots from his vision before Demonstre planted a black-leather-clad boot on the back of his neck. Will had faceplanted next to a sizeable puddle of precum that had accumulated beneath him during the course of his sexual torture; coming to, he felt Demonstre shift his weight, grinding the hero's face in the slippery liquid that had just been milked out of him.

* * *

Will awoke, clawing at his own face. The sky was pitch black, but by the Ice Crystal’s faint light, he could see fat, soggy snowflakes beginning to come down. He forced himself to his feet. This was no good. He had to press on, to keep himself moving, to avoid freezing to death in his sleep. In near-total darkness, he pushed through what felt like ever-thicker brush, feeling thorns and prickles slash at his arms and chest. It was like he was descending back into the nightmare. Will swore, as the leaves crunched underfoot, that he could hear the noise reverberate off of dungeon walls, and that if his eyes could penetrate the darkness, they would see gray, crumbling stone encasing him on all sides. His foot caught on a rotted stump, and he fell, landing face-first in some wet, icy muck. The crystal, its light almost completely out, rolled away from him. Will tried to scramble to his feet, but fell again, extending one arm to steady himself. With the other, he fumbled through the snow and leaf litter, searching for the crystal. But in place of leaves, he felt—oh no...

The forest and snow were gone. Will was back in his nightmare, lying prone on the dungeon floor, his face and beard wet with his own pre-cum. He didn’t even have time to recover before he felt the floor slide out from underneath him—no, he was the one sliding in relation to the floor. The rough stone, mortar, and dirt scraped against his face and chest as the demon took him deeper into the dungeon, dragging him by his ankles. He quickly lost count of the number of side tunnels down which the demon turned, until he found himself in a hot, dry room bathed in flickering red light, the air filled with the smell of smoke. The demon released his grip; grabbing Will by his hair, he hauled the hero to his knees and directed his gaze to a large pit at the center of the room. It was the source of the smoke and the ominous light; from its depths, Will saw a rising column of embers and heard what he knew were the screams of previous vanquished heroes, cast into the inferno to be raped and tortured for eternity.

In a flash, Will realized. He had never left the dungeon. Torn from his body and imprisoned within the Ice Crystal, his soul had lived out a fantasy of escape over and over again, only for his captor to cruelly dispel the illusion. He had been here for weeks, possibly. From within the crystal, Will gazed out at what was left of himself with horror. His unmoving body, now completely naked, lay on its back at Demonstre's feet. Once beefy and sturdily built, he had turned lean and ropy in a surprisingly short time. His eyes were glazed and unfocused; only the slightest movement of his lips signaled that he was still breathing.

Demonstre locked eyes with him, intent on making him watch what was about to take place. Uttering an incantation, Demonstre awakened the crystal’s energies, causing it to bathe Will's body in a sickly blue light. Will’s body began to squirm and convulse. Its abs tensed. It arched its back, and its cock, half-flaccid only a moment earlier, sprung to its full length and girth. The soulless body let out an unearthly moan, twitching its limbs like a dying insect.

The demon had no interest in foreplay. Will lost count of how many ropes of his cum, frothy, white, and thick as heavy cream, splashed across his pecs and abs. His cock gushed like a cascade, continuing to disgorge semen even as Demonstre knelt over him, licking up what had already sprayed out with a long, barbed, leopard-like tongue. Even as the demon drank, Will’s body continued to wring itself dry, glazing his muscles, drenching his chest hair, even flinging a few drops onto his expressionless face. Rivulets of seed ran down his sides like water flowing over the lip of a fountain.

Will pounded the walls of his prison and screamed; Demonstre, still greedily lapping up his cum, paid him little intention. He muttered another incantation, and within the Ice Crystal, Will was returned to the forest. He was back in the brush, as naked as his unresponsive body was in the outside world. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find his footing; the ground itself seemed to shift under him every time he was on the verge of righting himself. As he stumbled, he found himself caught up in more and more roots and vines, until he was completely tangled in plant matter. Gnarled roots anchored him to the ground, splaying his legs apart, while thorny vines lashed themselves to his wrists, pulling his arms above his head. Will found himself totally immobilized. Still able to see beyond the confines of his prison, he felt narrow, vining tendrils grow over the corners of his eyes; he tried to blink and found that he couldn't. Both Will's body and soul were now completely helpless, the latter forced to watch as his captor drained the former. Finally, having drunk his fill, Demonstre looked up. The demon’s hands absent-mindedly roamed across Will’s body, caressing his still-impressive muscles, tweaking his nipples, and cupping and squeezing his manhood, from which cum continued to ooze.

Inside the crystal, bound by roots and vines, Will found himself ringed by dark shapes. One by one, a series of tall, broad-shouldered men emerged from the shadows. They wore peasants’ boots and cowls; some had gauntlets, short capes, or greaves. Below the neck and above the knees, they were almost completely naked. Daggers hung from their belts, fastened above throbbing erections. One and all, in place of human faces, the men had grinning skulls, their sockets devoid of eyes but filled with lust and evil intent. Will, feeling sick to his stomach, recognized each and every one of them. They were the men of Havenwick, their souls now fully enslaved to Demonstre’s will. As Will struggled to contain his fear, the victorious demon strode over and picked up the crystal. He raised it to eye level and tilted it, so that Will could look over the edge of the pit.

“When I’ve consumed every last drop of heroic strength from your body,” Demonstre gloated, “I’ll return your soul to what’s left. You can try to run. You can try to fight. I’ll toy with you long enough to convince you you can escape.”

By now, the corrupted, skull-faced villagers had surrounded Will, tying a gag around his mouth and forcing a metal ring around the base of his cock and balls. Dozens of hands began to tease and stroke his bound body as Will begged his former comrades to stop. Demonstre fixed his gaze on his victim's imprisoned soul, giddy with triumph. “I’ll drag you to the edge of this pit and fuck you one last time before I cast you down, where you can provide the same entertainment to my brothers. Your life as a hero is at an end. Your life as a whore of the demonic hordes is just beginning.” Satisfied that Will had been reduced to despair, he placed the crystal, within which the hero was now screaming, on his unresponsive body's chest. Will blubbered out a stream of pleas for mercy as the enslaved souls forced the first of what would be many orgasms out of him. Will cried out, tears streaming down his face, as his captor disappeared into the darkness, cackling.


End file.
